Some don't, so here's a fun, quick explanation:
Today is a random day where you can post a short few paragraphs of your work and we are going to be BRUTALLY HONEST about what we think....
And you then can retreat to your room with a blankie and and a cup of hot chocolate...
Seekers allow a 24 hour WHINING rule. :)
You get to be mad for one day...
And then we pull up our big girl panties and move on. (Not kidding, Cupcakes.... you get a day.)
Okay, we're not really mean. Well, Ruthy is KINDA mean, but she really wants your success so she'll tell you it's for your own good. This may or may not be true.
But when you look at the wealth of experience and published books here on this blog, you know you've got a bunch of gals who not only know what they're talking about... they love helping others.
So be big and brave and bold!
Get your short piece ready and post it in a comment....
LET'S PLAY!!!!
We've got coffee and tea and hot chocolate and a cooler of Cokes (which means any soda imaginable for you Southern gals!) and there's a full breakfast bar of great healthy stuff....
And then there's a breakfast bar of Twinkies and Oreos and great cherry desserts.
And if you've never had Ruthy's cherry pie, well.... you'll love it.
And we have a couple of book surprises we're giving away today, so free critiques...
And books.
It's been a long winter, but we are on a roll for 2019!
So get your stuff ready, it's that random moment of fun with the red pen you've all been waiting for! Use the comment section below to give us a paragraph or two of your work.
Let's see what ya' got.
So take that as a warning or a dare, your choice because she's a born in the north Yankee and kind of proud of it...
Don't say you haven't been warned! :)
Book giveaways are ANYONE'S GUESS, darlings....
We'll see what's in the prize vault!
First meeting between Ben, a cop, younger than Meg, a widow with 2 kids.
ReplyDeleteBen Kincaid pulled in behind the blue sedan and parked behind it. Reading the license plate, he entered it into his computer. The name and address appeared – Meg Hewitt, 7 Bondar St. That name sounded familiar. Now where had he heard that name recently? He pulled out his black notebook and on the last page the name Hewitt jumped out at him. That boy. He thought back to the night before when the incident with the young Hewitts had begun. He replayed the interactions in his mind. The boy, troubled and embarrassed to be picked up by police. The mom who hadn’t shown up. The daughter who had to step in.
Ben quickly got out of the car and walked to the driver’s side of the car. The woman was bent over her wheel and he knocked on her window. She jolted upright and turned to look at him. He was struck by her wide green eyes, and she seemed momentarily startled. First the son, and now the mother. Both breaking the law.
BEVERLEY!!!! You get an extra chance in the drawing for being first, go you!!!!
DeleteAnd I already love the cop and the widow arrangement, so you had me at "hello"....
I would suggest tightening this. Being that lean, mean, word-dicing machine. Remember these are my ideas... do with them as you wish!!!
Ben Kincaid angled his cruiser behind the blue sedan and scanned the license plate.
Meg Hewitt. Bondar Street (okay if it was the night before, he'd remember if he's smart, and we want our cops to be smart, so I'm having him remember instantly....)
The incident from the previous night replayed in his mind. The boy, troubled and embarrassed to be picked up by police. The mom who hadn't shown up. The daughter who stepped in.
Ben got out of the cruiser and walked to the driver's side of the car. A woman was bent over the wheel. He knocked on her window.
She jolted upright. Turned. Aimed bright green eyes at him, eyes that widened in surprise.
First the son, and now the mother. Neither one with much regard for the law.
I thought for a meeting like this (which should probably be the book's opening????) using shorter, more cryptic sentences might be good. See what you think!!!! And thanks again, o woman of courage! :)
I love this meeting of characters, Beverly! It made me want to read more.
DeleteAnd Ruthy, I like the idea of tightening it a bit.
Big props to Beverly for tossing her hat into the ring first!
DeleteThe set-up to this one is so appealing. Widow, police officer...I'm sympathetic to both already.
I would beef up the first line, make it something really unusual and grabbing. Something that reveals Ben's character or reflects the night he had.
:)
Gulp...here goes. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteHannah Lowe gripped the camera hanging around her neck by a strap with one hand and held her new backpack in the other hand as she walked down Main Street in Lee Crossing, Texas. Clouds filled the sky, and a breeze blew her hair back.
Ahead of her, a man wearing a blue-and-white checked shirt tucked into Wranglers turned on the toe of his polished cowboy boots and entered Daily Java. Hannah caught the door with the toe of her pink tennis shoes and scooted inside after him.
Most of the tables were occupied, but there was not a long line. Two employees stood behind the counter. A young barista with a man-bun stared at the guy in front of me. “Made up your mind?”
“An Americano.” He pulled out a ten and slid it across the counter.
A woman with dyed jet-black hair went to work preparing the drink.
Whoa. Most people back in Atlanta paid with plastic. She really had left civilization behind.
Oh my brave girl, LOL!!!!
DeleteOkay, I love how you're setting up the fish-out-of-water scenario. That always opens us up for natural conflict and misunderstanding and a bit of dishevelment, doesn't it?
First, I'd like to see the town through Hannah's eyes.
Something like this:
The worn-around-the-edges town was dusty, but not as dusty as she expected and Hannah counted that as a bonus. It was compact, with a Western edge, more at home with Fort Worth than Dallas and the cowboy sporting polished boots and a blue-and-white checkered shirt tucked into easy-fit Wranglers completed the picture.
The cowboy swung the door wide and went into the Daily Java. Hannah caught the door with the toe of her pink tennis shoes and scooted inside after him. (I would excise scooted because I just cringe when I see that word... it makes me cringe, like women sighing all the time. I want to pop 'em in the jaw and tell 'em to get a life. I am such a snark, Jackie!!!)
Most of the tables were occupied, but there was not a long line. Two employees stood behind the counter. A young barista with a man-bun stared at the guy in front of me. “Made up your mind?”
(love the man-bun thing, totally not what I expected!!!)
“An Americano.” He pulled out a ten and slid it across the counter.
A woman with dyed jet-black hair went to work preparing the drink.
(I'd suggest ditching the hair description unless you go deeper. We've already got a plethora... polished boots, pink shoes, etc, so we don't want to overload with simple visual but if you make it more marked, it can work:
He didn't mix the drink. A woman did, standing further behind the counter. Dark hair, inky black. Lightly bronzed skin and Latina cheekbones. A careful face, almost cautious. And soulful eyes. (I'm in Hannah's shoes as a photographer or reporter. For whatever reason she's there, people with a camera see things more fully than the rest of us slugs).
Whoa. Most people back in Atlanta paid with plastic. She really had left civilization behind.
Okay, so this is all about how she's feeling about being there. We need to sense that, and that's as simple as a dropped hint in these paragraphs.... Happy? Sad? Sent by boss?
DeleteWe want to emote with Hannah, one way or another. She's either on a mission to the DeathStar or a new opportunity. I want to feel her and see her.
Jackie, thanks for sharing! You've got me curious about why your heroine is there! I like Ruthy's suggestion to maybe drop a hint at why she's there. Something that'll make the reader relate to her, to be rooting for her.
DeleteBTW, I love her pink tennis shoes! :) That, and the camera and backpack are great description.
Jackie, I LOVE a good fish-out-of-water story!
DeleteI'm just going to tweak the first paragraph. Ruthy did a fantastic job with suggestions for the rest.
Hannah Lowe gripped the camera hanging around her neck by a strap with one hand and held her new backpack in the other hand as she walked down Main Street in Lee Crossing, Texas. Clouds filled the sky, and a breeze blew her hair back.
If you read that first sentence a few times, it kind of sounds like the strap has one hand. ;) ...by a strap with one hand...
Hannah Lowe eased the weight of the camera hanging around her neck, hitching her backpack higher on one shoulder as she walked down Main Street in Lee Crossing. The Texas sun blazed away, only slightly mitigated by a breeze that felt like it had been taken fresh from the oven.
Dax took a long draw of the tepid water and checked his watch. Five minutes early. Enough time to close his eyes for just a minute before he met his last client of the day. Cracked paint and rotted wood along the porch wasn’t a good start. And that’s only what he could see from a distance. This job might end up taking more than the three weeks he had available. It’s a good thing the days were long this time of year. He might end up chasing daylight if he landed this job.
ReplyDeleteHe knocked back the last gulp and crunched the bottle before tossing it in the backseat of his truck. He stepped down onto the gravel driveway the sound of the waves from the other side of the house soothing the tension of a long day. Construction may not have been his plan, but pounding nails within the view of the ocean made it a good second.
Hi, Christy!
DeleteLove this.
Love it. Love it. Love it.
I might suggest starting off with your closing line:
Construction had never been first on the list.
Dax took a long draw....
And then I wouldn't have him close his eyes... that sounds like old man stuff....
Enough time to breathe or at least catch his breath before...
Closing his eyes seems quite tired... and maybe he is, but want him in charge, right.... whereas breathing is just giving him a solid lift...
Love the next part and chasing daylight makes me laugh because I live my life chasing daylight... and winning! :)
The rest is absolutely great, nothing I would change.
AND HUGE thanks for coming and playing with us!
Does that make sense, I got interrupted.... Making this clearer:
DeleteDax took a long draw and checked his watch. Five minutes early. Enough time to catch a breath before the scheduled client should arrive.
Cracked paint and rotted wood along the porch wasn’t a good start. And that’s only what he could see from a distance. This job might end up taking more than the three weeks he had available. It’s a good thing the days were long this time of year. He might end up chasing daylight if he landed this job.
And then the rest was great as is.
There, that makes more sense now!
Oh I hope a beautiful woman lives in this house and … well, the possibilities are endless!!! Great opening.
DeleteChristy, I really like this! I like this guy already--hard working and maybe down on his luck (having to go after something that wasn't first choice). It makes me root for him.
DeleteI think Ruthy probably has a good point about not having him feel like he needs to close his eyes. Maybe he can squeeze in a phone call or email if you want him to do something. Or he can get out to look up closer at the potential job.
Love this. Love this. Love this!
DeleteIf you're going to have him close his eyes for a moment, maybe you could give a reason why he's so tired? Perhaps he'd been chasing daylight for days and days on another job, or burning the midnight oil with bids and proposals after a full day on the job...or...he can close his eyes and pop them open again, because every time he closes his eyes, he sees...something or someone he doesn't want to see?
So many great possibilities when I read your opening paragraphs. I'm intrigued and I would keep reading!
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DeleteBlogger is having a contest with me when I try to copy and paste. Hmm.... I'm not sure what's going on.... Raising both eyebrows!!!
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DeleteYay! I finally get to play. I'm looking forward to the feedback, Ruthy. :) Thank you in advance for sharing your wisdom as you critique.
ReplyDeleteHow did one prepare to spend an evening playing nice with a sister who couldn’t stand her? How would Jenae manage watching Aimee and her picture-perfect family move through the guests, give her parents big hugs, and charm people with their white-toothed smiles?
Jenae hurried to her walk-in closet, her insides prickling, keeping her on edge. She pulled out the silky dark green sheath she’d wear for tonight’s party and worked it over her head, its hem landing just above her knees. Sometimes she wished she didn’t have the slim figure. That her hips had been widened from carrying a baby to full-term. But God hadn’t given her that dream. All she had were the ultrasound pictures she’d filed away years ago. And the broken heart that never quite mended.
“Shane? You ready?”
They needed to get to the golf club just west of Denver to hang the garlands she’d promised to bring. Then, she’d play hostess, avoid her sister, and call this party done.
I can just FEEL this, Jeanne. I've got a couple of sisters who I love but who make me feel pretty incompetent at times.
DeleteAnd the grief over the lost child, that's powerful.
Great beginning, Jeanne.
DeleteI have a couple suggestions. Take them or leave them. :)
The line "playing nice with a sister who couldn’t stand her," made me go back to determine who couldn't stand whom. I'd end the first sentence with "playing nice with her sister." Then the next line, add something about Aimee couldn't stand her...or had wiped her out of her life two years ago...or always had to upstage her...whatever. And I'd start the line about Aimee and her family at the party without the "How" opening to change it up a bit since the previous/first sentence starts with "How..."
Also let me know that Jenae is married before you mention the miscarriage. I thought she was single until you had her call to Shane. That is if Shane was the baby's father. If not, make that clear as well.
Again, just my two cents!
Hugs!
Oh, Jeanne, this is a story you need to tell. It is repeated so often across the country, across the world....
DeleteI like Debby's advice above. Totally solid and only makes a good opening even better.
Jeanne, I really felt sympathy for your character and can feel her pain. I don't know what happens next in your scene, but I'm wondering if maybe you could change it up so that the story starts in real time at the party (not getting dressed). Have Janae be standing at the door to greet people at the party, and her sister comes in and brushes by with her perfect family, and takes over as hostess with the big white smiles of her husband and perfect kids. (or whatever fits). And during that, mix in her thoughts, resentment and pain.
DeleteJust something to consider! :)
Jeanne, you've evoked so many universal emotions...sibling issues, baby issues, unfulfilled dreams. Love it!
DeleteI love what Debby suggested above. But I agree with Missy, too. Starting when Janae has to give that first fake, air-kiss to her sister's perfect cheek would be a great place to throw the reader into Janae's world.
You all give such amazing advice! Thank you! I am copying, pasting, and figuring out how to incorporate. I'm truly grateful!
DeleteI don't have my laptop at rehab yet so I can't see any of my works in progress. But I am making notes until I can get my brother to bring it to me.
ReplyDeleteI am going to have the character go through what I am only she is 35 and not 64.
After surgery and not able to move my left leg. I felt like a beached whale. Is it okay to have the character say she's a beached whale.
I also woke up one morning to a guy standing at the foot of my bed blowing kisses at 2 am. He goes into rages. I think adding him will add a little interest.
I am also writing in photos on the ceiling as she's wheeled to surgery.
What are your thoughts on these ideas?
Really interesting, Wilani. To tell of your experience through fiction is a great idea.
DeleteThe beached whale idea, why not? All I'd say is, as you write, sometimes something that really appeals to me ends up being cut. Use it but don't get married to it.
Sorry about your laptop needing rehab.
:( I feel like a beached whale without mine!!!
Wilani, having a guy at the foot of your bed blowing kisses is creepy! Was he a resident or on staff? Either way, I'd let someone know.
DeleteBut he is perfect for a suspense story. Perhaps someone gets murdered? The heroine is going to surgery and is whisked into the operating suite before she can reveal what she saw. Oh...I'm seeing this. She awakes in recovery with only a hazy memory of what happened and thinks, at first, it was only a dream.
Oh, Wilani... don't add the middle of the night creeper.... EEK!!!!
DeleteLike Debbie that would work in a dream sequence or a suspense... and honestly, Wilani, it's hard to work with a heroine who starts the story unable to do anything so I would re-think that. You know I want to be honest with you. If something happens after she's gotten the hero's attention then we have reason to root for her if she's injured, like the heroine who saves the hero by belly crawling across the floor to get to the gun and shoot the serial killer...
Okay, only slightly over the top, but I would suggest not using an injured heroine initially. It kind of sets you up for pitying her and that gets old real quick....
(Not a published author, but here's my two cents.) I just read a really great book where the main character starts by rehashing what led up to his injury instead of just landing the reader right in the middle of rehab. His stay in rehab was a very important part of the story but definitely not the main part.
DeleteWilani, sorry about your laptop-separation...I would have real anxiety!
DeleteAs to 'beached whale.' You can certainly use it, but it is a bit of a cliche. Using cliches is okay, but you could freshen it up by adding to it something that pushes it over the top, something unexpected.
Perhaps, As the hospital attendants rolled her from side to side changing sheets on the bed, she felt like a beached whale. And not just any beached whale, but one that had been found on the sand, photographed, stared over, and was now being 'rescued' by Sea World EMTs.
:D
This happens further in the story. I am going to tie the creepy guy into somosom who was sent to make her life miserable.
DeleteI have filled out a report about this resident in real life. He is in the room next door. Just this morning he stood outside my door hollering at me. He is very creepy. It is against the law to restrain patients. I have to trust the Lord every moment.
Living research for a book is not for the faint of heart.
Would you believe he wheeled in my room just a few minutes ago at 8:45. Glad they hadn't gotten me into my gown yet and my roommate keeps mumbles. If anyone is reading this tonight please pray.
DeletePraying for you, Wilani. And keep telling the staff if you're being bothered. maybe they'll move you.
DeleteThis is from a project called Saving Columbine. I've put slash marks to indicate italics. Thank you so much!
ReplyDeleteIn the days and weeks that followed, everything found its way back to the shooting. Every newscast, every radio show, every conversation. Every breath that flowed whispered /Columbine/. Beth wanted nothing to do with it after that day, though. Tuesday night, Jesse heard from his friend that he was worried about, And Beth’s mother assured her that the coworker’s son was okay. It was all the closure that Beth needed.
She said things like, “I know! So horrifying!” to be a part of conversations; she hugged and let friends cry on her shoulder, all the while keeping her focus on matching outfits, stargazing, graduation, and the next time she would see Jesse. When Beth saw pictures of the killers on TV, the word /evil/ flashed through her mind. And that was all. She didn’t dwell. She had three weeks left of high school and nothing, not even some local murders, was going to ruin that for her.
This is a great set-up/opening for a book. Such a profound experience in a young life.
DeleteI'd love to see more with Columbine as the back-drop.
Hey, anonymous friend, I did a book called Mended Hearts based on a school shooting and inspired by Columbine... by a sentence that was shared with my son-in-law long before I knew him...
DeleteWhen asked about the teachers who worked there then, the woman replied... "Most of them are gone."
And that made me want to write one of their stories.
So this is a very poignant, touching, sad thing to write about and for that very reason it should be addressed. And I love that you gave her real feelings and doubts and normal thoughts.
Anonymous, I really liked this opening. I can sense Beth's denial and feel a sense of worry for how this will affect her later. Great work!
DeleteReally drawn in by this. Great stuff!
DeleteI love that writing fiction can help us heal from tragedy.
I may have been born and raised in Florida but my family is yankee. (It's the only state where the farther South you go, the further North you get! ;-) ) Anyway, here's the opening paragraphs for my YA fantasy WIP.
ReplyDeleteClear skies, a strong breeze, and absolutely no one around — just right for flying. Ember stood at the edge of the trees and gazed across the marsh. She’d found this secluded spot six months ago, a barren space deep in the woods, and it had quickly become her favorite hideout for practicing.
She slid her backpack off her shoulder, her school books and leftover packed lunch inside, and peered into the treetops until she spotted a broken stub of a branch. It would be safely out of reach of prowling alligators up there.
A running start into a giant leap — her wings unfurled with a crisp snap. She hovered for a half-second, hastily looping the bag on the branch before softly touching back down to the ground. Now to practice.
Wow, I have to say I would totally read on. This is really intriguing. YA Fantasy. Excellent. Your heroine can fly? LOVE IT!!!
DeleteYou hooked me! More, please!
DeleteWhat a cool character! And I love YA books.
DeleteI just have one little suggestion. I was a little confused about what she was doing when she takes off flying and hovers. I realized it's because I didn't know what you were talking about by "it" in the sentence after she sees the branch. So maybe just change that to clarify:
...a broken stub of a branch. Her backpack would be safely out of reach of prowling alligators up there.
Oh, this is wonderful! I love YA, too, and if there were only more hours in a day!!!! I agree with Missy, that defining the "it" is good for clarity, but now I just want to read more of this!
DeleteI'm in on this one! Nice description, and...wings! Woohoo!
Delete*swoon* You all have made my day! And great suggestion - I see exactly what you mean. Thanks!
DeleteI see we have several who've jumped in. How fun!! It may take me a bit to catch up. I think I need more coffee first. :)
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ReplyDeleteThe Atonement
ReplyDeleteI truly believe that my mother issues began when I died the first time.
I was dead. No doubt about it. All those beeping and non-beeping medical instruments showed I was dead. The doctors were dead sure I was dead. But it was just wishful thinking.
They botched the abortion.
I was late term. Very late term. Over due late term. In fact, I could have been born three months earlier and still have been a right proper preemie. I could have been a dream come true for a long childless couple. Prayers answered at last. It was not to be.
"Mother issues," my psychiatrist says. Now there's one bitch with glitches. Don't misjudge me, now. You'd be wrong. That woman would make a better case study than Freud's Wolf Man.
"Where did I get my medical degree?"
Columbia! That's the best school of Psychiatry in the country. By the way, I graduated with honors. Not that she's a bad psychiatrist. On average, I'd say she was a better than average head shrinker. And truth be told, most of her glitches I only discovered after we were married.
I can't complain too much, I guess. (Pardon. I better clarify that last statement. By "I can't complain too much", I didn't mean I'm not allowed to complain too much or that I don't have the capacity to complain too much, no, what I meant was that no amount of complaining would be too much. So please, don't get me wrong.)
I do thank God that I was born back then in the day. Today in New York abortionists can get a second bite of the apple. They can cause you to die even after birth...as long as they make you comfortable. Three cheers for the legislature. That 'comfort' part shows their heartfelt humanity.
Don't get me wrong.
I don't mean to sound bitter just because my mother didn't want me. She never even ever looked at me. And to be fair she did sign the paperwork to sell my body parts for fetal research. Not that she needed the money. Her family was filthy rich. Members of the Four Hundred. (I come from good stock.)
What I'm really bitter about is the second time I died. Now that makes for a very interesting story. It's a story about real redemption, absolute atonement, and maybe even the most romantic love story ever told.
It all began when the terrorists starting firing into the mourning crowd. I was hit twice in the first minute. The atonement had begun. So many lives were saved that day. It was a good day to die.
*****
First person. Direct. Conversational. Emotional. Meaningful. What's not to like?
A unique critique would be sweet.
Neat, no ice.
Vince
I felt this to the core of my bones. This is gripping and brilliant and now I want to take over and write the story and that's your fault for making it that good, Vince.
DeleteI would put the psychiatrist description in parentheses so we know exactly who you're describing. It's tough when there's a mother who's okay with infanticide and a bunch of tough terms thrown at the psychiatrist, and did you know that a lot of psychiatric patients take either umbrage or consolation in the imperfections of their doctors???? We do have fragile egos!!!
So I'd parenthesize that and then is it the psychiatrist asking and answering the medical degree question?
That's unclear. So you/he married the psychiatrist...
I had to stand my ground and battle to get to keep a therapist as a heroine when she wasn't treating the hero, but was treating his children, that's how nervous folks are about stepping on toes these days... but it worked in the end, and they had some other great ideas and we compromised, but the Big Five tends to be careful... only the way you've done it, I think they'd go with it, the in-your-face attitude really jumps out and makes the reader listen.
Okay, on to the rest... Vince, there are seven states that have turned their back on babies, NY was just the latest, and it ties in with your Columbia statement, so I would either make it known that he's in NY or that NY is one of an unfortunate many....
DeleteToo many "Don't get me wrong"s because then it loses impact.
I love the can't complain too much explanation. It's so totally you and yet so absolutely sensible to the reader.... Like Inigo Montoya saying "Let me 'splain. Wait. There is not time. Let me sum up." I love that line because it works.
But here's a problem to me as a reader... we go straight to the terrorist event (and you know I've had kids in terror-struck places so doing any kind of terror event is something that I take so personally... and if writers cannot get it right, don't do it, because it's a whole other ball game. And I'm not saying that sanctimoniously, but because it's important to nail it down... Okay, off topic, the point of this was that you didn't say how he lived.
Adopted?
Did all right?
Is he a Jason Bourne or a Warren Buffet or a Rupert Murdoch or NYPD detective? Where is he at in life before he dies again?
Vince, you've a hard-hitting piece ripped right from the headlines!
DeleteI can 'hear' your voice in this one, direct, matter-of-fact, no-holds-barred truth as you see it.
Well done!
So I love the ending. It's cryptic. Short. Like a movie excerpt, but with me wanting to read on and find out if he really died, or did he save lives first.
DeleteAt the end of a Deborah Smith novel, there's a scene between a crazy terrorist who wants to be killed and the hero... who doesn't want to kill him, and yet he's going to have no choice because the guy won't drop the weapon, etc...
I've never forgotten that scene because she wrote it like a man seeing it.
So knowing this guy with his psychiatrist witch of a wife (does he like her???? Are they still married??? I'm asking myself these questions mentally) and will he ever find peace... and why does he need atonement? Because I bet he doesn't need to atone for anything, does he?
Hi Ruth:
DeleteWhat a great critique. I loved it. I see many ways to fix problems you've pointed out.
First: this is just the opening of a novel. The action takes place in NYC. The hero has been divorced from his 'wife' for over 10 years. He met her in residency at NYU. She did not go to Columbia she went to SUNY.
The wife should have been named so it was clear who I was talking about.
The terrorists hit a funeral procession. There were hundreds of people subject to gun fire. It was worse than Las Vegas.
The hero had a second near death experience at the end which brought about his being born again. "No greater love" comes in to play. This also completes the story arc from a "Where was God during the Holocaust" to "Where was God as millions of babies were being killed" to "God was in the best people who were trying to do the right thing." (Raoul Gustaf Wallenberg and Viktor Frankl).
The book will mirror many themes in Frankl's "Man's Search for Meaning".
BTW: I have had a student's husband killed at the NY Trade Center and a student's son, a major, killed at the Pentagon. I supplied a local TV station with a tape of the father talking about his son made some years before. It was so sad.
The terrorist event comes at the end of the story. The story starts with the hero not being wanted to the end where his sacrifice saves so many while putting him on the path to eternal life.
And, no, the hero does not die at the end. There is one HEA on steroids. (Think of St. Monica when her son, St. Augustine, was saved after a near lifetime of not believing!)
Next I need to write the ending to fulfill the promise as being a great romance.
Thanks,
Vince
Well I loved this, Vince... it's got power and angst and layers galore. And while we're really in this guy's head, we want to punish mom for not wanting him and fix him. That's the Jason Bourne sympathy trend...
DeleteWell done, my friend! :) And keep writing, for heaven's sake. God only knows how much time we have... there is no keeping him waiting at the end.
I'm not a writer, but I'm loving reading all these posts! Fascinating critiques! I'll have a slice of Ruthy's cherry pie, thank you very much!
ReplyDeleteThank you, sweet Winnie!
DeleteThis is from a holiday story I'm working on. Thanks in advance for the help!
ReplyDelete“Do you even know what this is?” Henry held up one of the many appliances littering the countertop. The device in his hands happened to be the Tater Twister, one of Susan’s personal favorites.
Susan and Henry were preparing to downsize, otherwise she would have never dared reveal to Henry the exact size of her kitchen collection. It seemed to multiply over the years. Her kids gave her nice cookware for her birthday. She bought a pancake batter bowl and a cream whipper from a friend’s party. She found the most adorable teaspoon set while grocery shopping. One by one, the items gathered in her kitchen. And now, all at once, she had to part with them.
“Of course I do! I know what each and every one of them is.” Susan heard her voice rise in pitch.
“Are you ever going to use it again?” Henry huffed as he surveyed the massive amount of cooking paraphernalia all over the kitchen.
“Of course I am!” She took a deep breath. “Of course I am.”
“When?” He set the appliance down in the last available space on the counter.
“At Christmas. When everyone comes to see us.”
Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “You aren’t going to cook for all thirty of them this year, are you?”
“Yes. I am.” Susan said it on a whim at first, but the more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. “I’ll cook one big dinner for everyone at Christmas. And whatever I don’t use we can give away.”
This is delightful! I love it. You've laid down a challenge, and you've managed to hit on a timely subject--- de-cluttering!
DeleteMy only tweak would be to change 'appliances' to 'gadgets' in the first line. When I read appliances, I thought fridges and stoves.
Okay, this is a fun scene for these empty nesters! I would suggest making it more fun. Make the banter and the disbelief reflective of having too much stuff, not wanting to get old, not wanting to hand over the reins, not wanting to change everything....
DeleteSo let's start at the beginning.
"Do you even know what this is?" Henry raised the Tater Twister into the air as if brandishing a carnival prize.
"Know it and love it," Susan shot back. She folded her arms. Tapped her toe. And then she aimed a look at him, then the cluttered counter of thirty years of paraphernalia-gathering at home-shows, shopping centers, grocery stores and now...
Amazon.
The shopping king of all kings.
"Will you ever use it again? Why would you?"
"Well to make Twisted Taters, of course."
He stared at her, then the device. "You haven't twisted a tater in a long time, Susan. If we want twisty fries, can't we just order them? In town?"
It wasn't just stuff. The clutter of kitchen utensils wasn't an excess of necessity, it was a lifetime of meal prep. Party hosting. Holiday gatherings when she could have all of her family around her and feel like she'd done something very, very right.
"Seriously, will you ever use this stuff again?"
"I will."
"When?"
"At Christmas. When everyone comes to see us."
Okay, I took some license with this just to show that we could make it more banter, more back-and-forth by rearranging words slightly.
DeleteAnd every woman over 50 will totally identify with this, if they're cooks in their own kitchens!!!!
Thank you so much! Susan and Henry could definitely use some more banter.
DeleteSofia sat with her back to the bar, watching the festivities. It was rare for her to be this side of the counter. She cast a critical eye towards the staff serving drinks this evening. Danielle hurried over to refill her glass.
ReplyDelete“More champagne, Sofia?”
“Thank you. Be generous - make sure the glasses are full. Romano’s paying.”
“You still don’t like Romano?” Danielle frowned, glancing across the restaurant. Sofia’s younger sister was dancing with her new husband, Sebastian Romano. “She’s radiant with happiness.”
“All brides are radiant on their wedding day, but she’s only known him for two months. Wait until her infatuation fades. Marrying Romano will open her eyes soon enough.”
“They’re an unlikely couple. Romano’s a giant, and she’s like a child in his arms. She wouldn’t listen to your warnings?”
Chrissy, what an intriguing opening! It's packed with emotional potential!
DeleteI would slow it down a bit to really ground the reader in the scene. Give us a bit of description of the bar/restaurant, let us hear the music, see the wedding party, etc. You don't really need Danielle in this scene, because Sofia's thoughts could all be internal, her heaviness of heart, her misgivings. I would love to know if she's more fearful for her sister or angry with her, because revealing that would give us great insight into who Sofia is as a person.
Love this story idea and where it could go!
I am in total agreement with Erica on this one... What is the matter with sisters when they won't heed the warnings??? :)
DeleteErica, it's got great potential, doesn't it???
Yes! I want to know why Sofia feels uneasy about the man her sister married...this has a suspense-ish feel to it that intrigues!
DeleteThanks for the feedback. Sofia's story is the second one in my not-yet-published series (in book 1 I write the sister's story). Now it is Sofia's time to shine. She is more pragmatic than her sister, who talks about God having a plan, and about how God changes men's hearts from sinner to saint. Sofia believes none of it. She has her own past sins to deal with, but she manages on her own, without trying to bring God into the equation.
DeleteThe next paragraphs bring a better picture of what is happening at the reception, as well as provide an explanation for why Danielle is hovering in the background. Sofia loses her temper with the pastor who conducted the wedding ceremony, and cannot understand why he responds with grace and compassion. She tosses the business card he gives her to Danielle to deal with. Just as well Danielle is a romantic at heart, because that business card comes in handy later on...
Ruthy, I hope I'm not too late to play along. I just got home from work. This is a small snippet from the manuscript I plan to submit to the LIS pitch.
ReplyDeleteGrace’s heart pounded in her chest. What happened? Her sister’s image on the screen had been replaced by the ceiling. “Chloe. Are you okay? What’s happening?” Grace yelled into the phone, desperate for answers. If only she hadn’t taken her eyes off the screen.
Had Chloe’s Great Dane, Barkley, knocked her down? Or, maybe someone had broken in. Was it an intruder?
She could hear scuffling, and the sound of furniture being knocked over echoed in the background. “Chloe! Answer me right now…okay, I’m calling 911.”
The image on her phone screen was replaced with a person wearing a ski mask. Brown eyes stared at her, assessing. “Go ahead. It’ll be too late by the time they get here.” He laughed and disconnected the call.
Oh my stars, we've got a suspense here!!!!
DeleteRhonda, I love this. LOVE IT. I'm going to change it and then you can decide what you like best, but here's my suggestion:
First, you'll need to have the hero and heroine together in the opening chapter so they must be in the same town, right? Instead of starting with the phone call, start with her chasing to the scene and calling 911 on her Bluetooth... That way we get to the hero and heroine seamlessly.
"911 center. State your emergency."
"My sister." Grace took the loop toward the expressway fast. Too fast. Except right now there was no such thing as too fast. "Carrie Angles. 1705 Crawford Blvd. Someone is there. Someone broke in. I heard a struggle and a scream and then the connection died."
"There's an intruder?"
Wasn't that what she said? She bit back angry words and tried to act calm. "Yes. 1705 Crawford."
The dispatcher repeated the address. Then, "What is your name?"
Why did that matter? Why weren't they sending a troop of police cars, lights flashing and sirens screaming, to Carrie's house?
"Your name?"
"Grace. Grace Morales. Carrie's my sister. Why aren't you sending help?"
"Help is on the way, ma'am."
She was calm. So calm, while Carrie's life was in danger now. Right now. How could she be so absolutely nonchalant?
She's supposed to be calm. That's why she's got this job. Breathe. Think. Pray.
She couldn't breathe. Not normally. Or think because the only thing she could envision was the call to her Carrie, minutes before. How she'd been looking at Carrie's pretty face one moment, then the living room ceiling the next.
And the sounds.
A struggle. A muffled scream. And then a voice. A man's voice. Deep and guttural.
And then nothing until the phone went blank.
Rhonda, we're actually writing the same scene here, but timing it differently and I'm going with the short, suspense-building, choppy lines that make the heart race.
Especially in the opening, you want the instant grab, the heart-stopper moments, the full-forward trajectory of action.
See what you think and then use any of this you want....
Thank you, Ruthy. You really should write suspense! Okay, I've got rewriting and polishing to do. :)
DeleteAnd you don't hate me for spinning it around... PHEW!!!!
DeleteThank you all so much for the feedback on my beginning. I appreciate all of you!
ReplyDeleteWe love and appreciate you, too!
DeleteHere's part of my chapter one of a book I'm rewriting. The scene is at a cancer walk. She's lost her husband is walking with his best friend.
ReplyDelete“Catrina.” Andy glanced at her and then down at the ground.
She forced her attention to the man beside her. “Yes?”
“There’s something I need to tell you about Jack.” His brown eyes met hers for a moment and then shot away again.
She frowned slightly. “Okay.”
“One of the last times I saw him, he asked me to do something ... something sort of personal.”
Personal? What on earth could Jack have possibly asked Andy that had him acting so nervous? They’d all been friends forever. Not much had gone on between any of them that another didn’t already know.
Her footsteps beat a steady rhythm as they continued their trek around the square. The soft murmur of other conversations floated around them, but nothing that she could make out for certain. Crickets chirped somewhere in the dark.
“He asked me to take care of you.” Andrew blurted the words out as if they were the biggest secret he’d ever kept.
“What?” Catrina was thoroughly confused. Jack asked Andy to take care of her?
“He was worried about you and Michael, and he asked me to keep an eye on you guys. I’m afraid I’ve not done a very good job of it, and I wanted to apologize for not keeping Jack’s last request of me like I should have.”
“How were you supposed to watch out for us?” Catrina narrowed her eyes.
“Just make sure you don’t need anything ... that you’re doing okay.”
“We’re fine, and we don’t need anyone watching out for us, Andy.” Were they like pets that Jack had been afraid to leave alone for too long? “Don’t worry about it. Jack wasn’t thinking straight or he would never have asked something like that of you.”
“But you’ll let me know if you do need anything in the future, right?” Andy turned and walked backwards beside her so he could face her at the same time.
“We’re fine. I’ve got it under control.” Catrina raised her eyebrows. And even if I don’t have it under control, I wouldn’t admit it to you. Anger welled up in her, making her chest tight. She walked faster to try and control it. How could he be so presumptuous?
Amy, hey! Good to have you here!
DeleteOkay, this one has me confused because I don't have any idea why this would bother her... or why he's feeling guilty. Or what the action/reaction might be.
So maybe we need to know more about Catrina and Jack's marriage. Maybe we need to see why this surprised her, why is she walking to raise money, does she want to, is it guilt, is it compassion? And where is Michael? Why isn't he walking?
The writing is good! But I'm missing emotion from both parties. Why would this make her angry? Or insulted?
See what I mean? Maybe this is out of the middle and this makes sense with what comes before????
Yes. I did sort of choose from the middle of the chapter. Not sure why I chose to do that actually. The scoop is her husband died of cancer. That's why she's walking. Michael is asleep with her mom. She doesn't want people to have to take care of her. And Andrew has secretly loved her all his life, but had given up when she married Jack. Now, he's wondering if he'll have another chance, but doesn't want the promise he made to Jack to stand in the way.
DeleteI wondered if that was the case... Okay, here's my advice and it's okay to trash it, darling!
DeleteI'd get out of her head and into his because she's already lost her husband, so she's grieving, but I would make that grief tinged with a sense of a new beginning based on some kind of marital strife.... even though she didn't wish him dead. But you can get into her head later.... If she was raised to be submissive or is that way by personality and then a strong, my way or the highway type A husband... maybe this is her chance to break out. But we not only need to see that, we need to feel it to the gut.
Okay, I'd start with Andrew's point of view.... but we need more conflict here. Him crushing on her and her wanting to express herself isn't conflict, it's just personal differences.
And the pledge kind of fits right into that, doesn't it? So no conflict there, either.
BUT... if you put them in direct conflict... he's a cop and she wants to do something dangerous.... Like open a food pantry or soup kitchen in the heart of the slums or in a rural area known for drug dealing and she's the do-gooder who brings food along with a sweet smile... and he knows someone's going to kill her because no one wants do-gooders messing with the status quo and he's trying to dissuade her and she gets her hackles up because this is HER TIME. HER LIFE. HER SON SHOULD KNOW SERVICE TO OTHERS....
Now you've got external conflict for them, internal conflict because of the dead husband, and maybe you can even change it from cancer death to a violent death that leaves people reeling... and no one expects her to be able to deal with it and she's so mad that she had her life turned upside down and inside out that she's just got to show people what she's made of.
That's probably a complete re-write for you, but... then you have a stronger book to present at the end. And I have to rewrite constantly, so I might as well get you used to it, darling! :)
The Last Woman on Earth
ReplyDeleteFor as long as I can remember, my worst and most paralyzing fear has been eternity. No matter how peaceful or joyful, no matter how gold the streets or pearly the gates, an existence without end makes me shudder. I shrivel and cower and close my eyes. There’s a pain that shoots into my abdomen from both sides when I contemplate it. Then my face gets warm, and I begin to sweat. I feel pressure all over, like the air has suddenly gotten thicker and is heavy on my skin. I can’t breathe. I only told someone once that I was scared of the idea of eternity, but she didn’t understand. I knew after her reaction, the look she gave me and her speechlessness at what she considered absurdity, that no one could. Most people associate the word forever with romance, or their minds define it tacitly as a long time. They will even say it. “Forever is a long time.” I used to shake my head when I heard the phrase. No. No, forever is not a long time. Forever is not even a very long time. It’s not ten trillion millennia multiplied by ten trillion. After that, you’ll just start over on your next ten trillion, and another ten trillion after that, and another and another and another and another and another. And then another. Forever never stops.
How can it not stop? How can there be no ending? Everything has a beginning, and everything has an ending. It is impossible for something to be, and for it to continue to be without end. To exist in one place forever, with no finality, no completion, no conclusion; the idea is... I can’t breathe. I feel the pressure, and the warmth, and the pain in my stomach, so I force myself to stop thinking about eternity and focus on the current life. The now. And right now, I am in a place that is certainly more boring than any afterlife could possibly be. I will never become accustomed to the emptiness, the lack of human interaction, the stillness. Sometimes I can’t move for fear of facing a still, solitary, hollow, cavernous day, filled with nothing. No voice, no skin, no hands. No scent of another. Nothing. But, I still don’t want to die. Perhaps it’s banal instinct, and I’m no different than any other human. My messiah complex won’t allow me to believe that, though. I fear death, because that is what people do. Everyone tries to live. I know, because I watched them die. All of them. Everyone fights for survival. Even if survival is simply delaying the extinction of mankind by a few short years, making no difference to any human’s existence, including my own.
Wow.... Okay.
DeleteThis reminds me of passages from Herman Wouk's Winds of War and War and Remembrance, how the Jews struggled to make sense of what they faced in the camps, how choices were not really choices and how varied the reactions were and how they sought life even in the worst of horrific circumstantial choices... so then did they not believe in heaven or is it primeval instinct that makes us cling?
This is brilliantly done. I think you know that. I would break up the two very long paragraphs into shorter ones. And I'm trying to envision her sense of being with no skin, no hands... is she A.I. humanoid? Devoid of human physical properties, a machine, but imbued with a human spirit? ... and yet she can move... so a robot?
A humanoid, part human, part android?
She thinks like a computer....
But now I really want to know.
Like... Wow. Just wow, Rachel.
Thank you so much, Ruth.
DeleteNo, she isn't anything other than a woman. I can see now how that line implies it, though. By "no skin, no hands.." I just mean she's alone. She longs for interaction and someone else to touch, that's all. Should I change that up or add clarification?
I am not familiar with Herman Wouk, but I am excited to remedy that soon.
Thank you so much again; your encouragement is an answered prayer. <3
Hey, Rachel! Yes, I would clear that up for the reader's benefit. We can tease them but if we openly confuse things without proper cause (like if she was I, Robot and a human android) then it's taking them down a rabbit trail with no den. So yeah, I'd straighten that up.... I'm not sure how far you are with this very strong piece of work, but if you're not too far, I'd make sure you see the end game as you go. Not necessarily the play-by-play, like in a baseball game (you can see that spring training has started for the boys of summer!) but if you can keep your eyes on the prize, the ending, then it's easier to build the bridges and roads that lead there without as much revising and re-writing later. Again... great job.
DeleteWow, I wish I had time for this today. Ruthy's critiques are like laser surgery. I'll try to have something ready for next time...
ReplyDeleteHahahahahahaha! I hope it's good surgery, LOL!
DeleteHI Ruthie and Ladies, here's mine if not too late.
ReplyDeleteopening of a paranormal:
With quick, firm steps, Roark paced one of the eight inch beams that crisscrossed the unfinished belfry of St. Mary’s Church. He paid no attention to the beam’s narrow width or the three hundred foot drop to the plywood floor below. A normal man would have exercised caution. But he was not¬ normal by any human standard. Reaching the other side, he angled himself to avoid the direct sunlight, more out of habit than need, and peered through the multi-paned arched window at the woman in the room across the street.
He would kill her tonight.
The sun hovered just above the rooftop of her square, grey building. When it dropped, he would slip into the shadows of her sterile room and end her life with a flick of his wrist. The orange-red ball inched lower.¬¬¬
The sun was half hidden now, yet he remained frozen in place. Every night fall, its rays weakened and so did his resolve. He was a coward as well as a killer. He feared nothing in the human world, except tiny Kate. Her power terrified him. She could level him with a glance. Destroy him with a show of condemnation, disgust or fear. Yet how could he reassure her? He was what he was. The thought frightened him as well.
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